The Faint Scent of Petrichor
by rosesandsaltyglass
Summary: (OC, AU) Gwen is trapped in a mysterious place, confused and baffled as to how and why she is there... But she certainly isn't alone. How will she escape the boy-or monster, along with the horrible island? Warning, I have edited this once already and changed the main female's name, for reasons of logistics and another story I am writing.
1. A bit like falling

It was black, and misty. For a second that felt longer than a day, she was falling. She felt like it was falling.. As if in an elevator. The lift, and the slow dizziness that makes you feel like you're turning, falling, almost floating.

Then, she's standing in the middle of a large, dirt cavern. Was it a cavern? More like a mossy cave, with an opening in the ceiling to let the light peer in, crowded openings to other mysterious tunnels, rooms.. Who knows. A few seconds prior, she was decorating her lovely two-bedroom dorm for the Christmas season, blasting her holiday tunes through Spotify.

The panic is setting in, dragonflies protruding through her stomach. Or, at least it felt like dragonflies.. _"Am I asleep?... Did I fall and hit my head?"_ She questions silently, there had to a reasonable explanation for this, well, magical transformation.

"Where am I?" She whispers. There was no one in the vicinity. Not that she could see, there could be tiny little goblins lurking in the shadows, just as she'd read in The Fellowship. She took a step, small and hesitantly. _"I must be asleep.."_ She closes her eyes and squeezes, trying to awaken her 'unconscious self'. Nothing. She opens her eyelids to reveal the same dirt room, leaves and vines draping the ceiling and walls, twisting together in vicious patterns.

Frantically, she lifts her arm and tugs it, gently pinching the flesh across her bones. Nothing. Only a sting that sends signals to her nervous system.  
Childish answers. What was she doing? She ran a hand through her hair, pulled back in a messy braid. It wasn't meant for an outing, not today. Not in this state.

"Hello?" She finally calls out, for any sign of a second party.. This place feels full of ghosts to her.

No one answers. Just the faint smell of petrichor.


	2. About a boy

He was sitting with his legs out in front of him, crossed and on his bed. HIS bed. After sleeping once on each bed he deciphered which was the most comfortable, suited him best. It didn't take too long, there were only five beds in the room. Two narrow beds, each with charcoal gray pipes for a bed frame, One cot in the darker corner of the room, by far the worst bed he'd ever rested his dark haired head on. Then two bunk beds, aligned side-by-side on the opposite wall from the cot.

He had decided upon the top bunk, second from the one directly next to the wall. Not only did he feel safest higher up, he also knew because of a grotesque situation from summer camp one year, top bunks are the best. No one can prank you, pee on you or any other unsanitary practices he would wince at, horrible memories from the dreaded 5th grade.

How long had he been reading that book? The question creeped into his head as he lowered the hardcover manuscript of a man of medicine. Why the sudden interest in medicine, anatomy, surgeons? This must have been the fifth book on cardiac surgery he'd glossed through just today.

He set book the back down carelessly, letting it slip off the flannel sheets and slamming onto the stack of books he'd plowed through below.

"What am I doing?" He squinted his eyes and felt a twinge of hopelessness. How long HAD he really been there? Days? Weeks? A month? Maybe two?

He heaved out a long sigh, though not for anyone to hear. Who would? He'd been alone for.. a while.

He blinked a few times, trying to rid himself of the fine crust of depression falling on him. "I.. can say.. Anything I want." He chuckled, at this. He was so used to watching his mouth, being a "good guy".. A "gentleman". Gentleman do not "cuss" in front of women.. Well, he wasn't really as gentlemanly as he may have thought..

"Fuck." He half-whispered, smiling. He looked around for anyone.. Nobody there, of course. He chuckled again. "Fuckity-fuck." He said louder this time, adding a little accent on the "ity".

"Fuckity-fuck-fuck-fuckers." He called out, laughing immediately. He sighed, a little. The soft crust of depression coming back. "I'm so fucking tired of being so damn lonely." He flopped back onto his scratchy pillow. Rolling on his side, rubbing the side of the pillow gently.

He closed his eyes tightly. "FUUCK!" He yelled as loudly as his lungs allowed.

A sound. He jumped. _Was that a voice? _No. No way, that was his imagination. He could feel his pulse in his neck, blood pumping spastically.

Again. This time it wasn't his imagination. That, or he was finally losing it. "Hello?" He said, a little high-pitched.

"Hello?"

It was a girl's voice.

"Who's out there?!" He called out, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, and plopping down to the ground. He stumbled over his messy pile of books and fell to the ground, right over the books and landing almost flat on his face.

"Ughhhhh.." He groaned out, lifting off his elbows and trying to stand to his feet. "A little too excited, huh?" Whispering to himself, he straightened out his dirt-stained blue t-shirt.

Footsteps. He could hear the dust lift off the ground, the feet, or boots? Sounded more like boots, stepping lightly through the halls.

Hesitantly, the 21-year-old slowly tiptoed toward the entrance of the bunker.

"Who's there? Is somebody else here?" The girl was closer, her voice was wavering slightly, was she as nervous as he was? "I.. I don't know where I am. Is somebody there?"

"I-" He croaked out, announcing his apparent nerves. "Aahemm." He cleared his throat, this time he sound less like a 6-year-old girl.

Then she was there. Standing in front of him. He could hardly believe his eyes, another human being. And right in-front of him!

"I.. Where am I? Tell me where I am!" She demanded. She was upset, almost terrified by the tone of her young-sounding voice.

"Uumm... I.." He was speechless. He just stared blankly at her. Not only was she a human, but she wasn't a bad-looking one either. Maybe it was the fact that he hadn't seen another human, let alone a girl in god-knows how long. She could've been completely ugly. But to him, at this moment, she was the prettiest girl he'd ever seen in his life. She was clad in skinny jeans, plain-black boots, and a sheer light-blue polka-dotted top. She was lovely. A bit tall, maybe a little above average, with lanky arms and legs. He noticed her nose, slightly crooked and turned up. Sorta cute in a way, in his eyes.

"You what?" She persisted after a good few seconds.

He realized he must've been a sight. He hadn't brushed his hair, shaved his face, or had a change of clothes, except for a very low-maintenance wash in the well, a little ways down the hall. Suddenly, he was very self conscious.

"Well, I.. Don't know where to start."

She groaned, running a few fingers through her dirty-blonde colored hair, catching a strand that had been placed perfectly down her forehead.

"Look, 10 minutes ago I was in my dorm-room, just decorating and listening to Michael Buble', who has an amazing vocal range-But, that isn't the point. I'm here, a-and I don't know how, or why. I just am. And so are you, apparently. And I don't know if I'm dreaming, or if this is some sick-hypnotist prank that my psycho roomie has pulled on me but-" She stopped, breathing heavily. She was distressed, and from what he could tell, she was on the verge of a minor panic attack.

"Hey, hey.." He almost lunged over to her, with the intentions of comforting. But she immediately stepped back, alarmed.

He put his hands up, trying to keep on good-terms with the only other person in this prison of a place. "I'm Dylan."

She looked at him, or.. Into him. Searching for any sign of threat, danger. Finally, she released a bit of tension in her shoulders and shrugged, pulling them back and standing up straighter.

"I'm Gwen."


	3. Two's a company

After what seemed like an eternity, Gwendolyn Thea Wendy Abbot (as was her full name), was breathing normally, her pulse returning to it's regular pace.

"So you're saying.." Gwen responded to Dylan, who had told her just about everything that had happened, and it wasn't much. "You don't even know how long you've been here? You didn't write tally marks for each day? Anything?" She seemed to agitated at Dylan, well, to Dylan at least.

He sighed. She was right, that would've been much simpler than just the regular sulking he accomplished. "Yeah, well.." He scratched his head, feeling her hazel eyes on him. "The thing is, I just.. After the first day I sorta.. Lost hope. I really didn't think there was a point in counting the days I was trapped here. Wherever here is." He plucked a twig out of the ground and threw it across the room.

Gwen's eyes followed it. All hope of answers went wherever the twig did. Just lost. The panic that had fizzled away started bubbling back up in her chest and she breathed slow and long, trying to calm herself._ No use in having a panic attack, especially not around this dork._

"I don't understand what we do now." He stated, a hint of the sulking dropping in his words. Gwen wondered if he was naturally depressed or if the time he spent here alone for so long had gotten to him.. She'd go with the later. That could be.. fixed.

She cleared her throat. Two depressed idiots wasn't an option. One had to be sane, at least hopeful. For productivity sake. "Look, Dylan. We ARE going to get out of here. I promise. It's really.. not that bad. I think it's a nice cave, anyway. No dead bodies, so far, water, food apparently, even beds with sheets and flannel covers. So, the surroundings aren't so bad. Definitely a promise of getting out quickly."

He shrugged. He didn't believe her. She was obviously trying to make him feel better, for whatever reason. He wasn't THAT upset. It's not like he had had nothing to do.

As if she could read his thoughts, she noticed the stack of books piled by his bed. Her eyes widened in curiosity... Almost scarily.  
"Are those... books?" She raised one eyebrow, staring intently on the wretched hardbacks.  
"Yeah..." He nodding patronizingly. He really did believe himself to be.. adorable.

She rolled her eyes, already getting used to this clunky, sloppy, idiot. Though.. He was cute. Ish. "Not what I meant. I just.. I really love books.." She paused, thinking about the logistics of what she was seeing. "You were carrying a ton of books when you suddenly appeared here?"

He paused, scrunching his eyebrows together. Then, a burst of chuckling popped through his mouth. "No, no.. There's a library. A giant library, as big as.. Well, any library I've ever been in."

She stared at him. She said nothing, only processing what he was saying to her. This was ridiculous! A giant cave with beds and a LIBRARY?! Madness! She'd never heard of such a preposterous.. "I.. Where is it?"

"Hold on, hold on." He started, and she rolled her eyes. Not the answer she wanted. Ever. "Here's the thing. For one, you JUST appeared here. Not even an hour ago. And you think I'm just gonna tell you where everything is? You could be a serial killer, or dominatrix, or, or.." He stopped when he saw her eyebrow raised and her arms crossed.

She was adorable.

"I am definitely NOT a dominatrix."

_Heh_. That may not have been the best wording.. "My point is," He said, his face reddening. "I just.. Think we should wait. Food and sleep. That's what you need."

She growled. What she needed was a nice book, a cup of hot tea and her Spotify playlist.  
He stood up, dusting off his pants. For a moment, he stared down at her. She was still looking longingly at his personal stack of books, and for a split second he thought he saw a smidge of homesickness. Or maybe, she was thinking about something melancholy. He felt remorseful, as if somehow he'd caused this. He couldn't have possibly, though. It was his fault she was here. It wasn't his fault that HE was here. _Was it?_

Finally, Dylan put his hand out, a gesture for her to take. She looked up at his hand, then him. The homesickness was at least veiled from her face, for now. For now, she conveyed a look of responsibility. Just what they needed.

After a moment of silence, she took his hand. He held it a moment, feeling the softness of her skin and her bony knuckles. He then pulled gently and lifted her to her feet.

She heard his breath hitch, just slightly. Gwen stared into his brown eyes, warm yet lonely. His dark chocolate brown hair, although messy, was growing on her. It was.. A little less cute. A little more.. Handsome? Yes, that was the right word for it.. Messily handsome.  
He finally looked down and saw their hands still entwined, his gripping hers and gently rubbing his thumb against her knuckles. He pulled away, quickly. _Was that weird?_

Gwen looked away from his eyes, looking anywhere BUT his eyes.  
"Er, umm. Food?" He laughed, nervously. _Yeah, this was getting a little weird._

Before it could getting any more awkward, there was a strange and startling noise.

"Where the FUCK am I? SAMMY?" A very deep, aggressive and violent voice echoed through the halls, sending chills down Gwen's spine.


	4. Three's a Crowd

The angry voice bellowed down the darkly-lit halls and into Dylan and Gwen's ears. Gwen's legs wavered slightly, the shock of the sound surprising her beyond what her hungry-self could take.

Dylan on the other hand was only annoyed at this, though she didn't notice while her attention remained pinned to the voice. What Dylan could tell, immediately, was that this wasn't another cute and confused girl. Duh. What he was dealing with was a crazily macho, or even psychotic and confused **_man_**. And unfortunately, Dylan wasn't a pro-wrestler body type. He was lanky, slightly awkward, but he had broad shoulders, and he prided himself in that feature. This, of course didn't promise anything. Dylan could barely hold down his 11-year-old sister when she tackled him, let alone a crazed war-lord.

What didn't Dylan didn't know, was not only this conspicuous man a crazed hunter and war-lord, but he was dangerously unwelcoming to any passerby's with an interesting story. Dylan and Gwen's was less than clearly understandable.

Dylan started feeling less annoyed, and more uneasy when he saw how Gwen quivered in her step. "M-maybe, maybe I should, um..." Dylan tried to put on his protective and caring side, but he had come to conclusion he needed more than just a few unsure words to be convincing.  
Gwen rubbed her shoulders and took a few steps closer to the door, very much sure of her steps and confidence rained from her like dust in the summer.

Dylan felt a little sheepish, following behind her, trying to keep up as she continued down the hallways toward the less than warm voice, becoming louder and louder with each step.

"SAMMY?! Sammy, where the hell are you?!" The man kept calling out this stranger._ Two? Two of them? Reaally?_ Dylan hoped to God this wasn't the case.

Gwen tossed her braid off shoulder, whipping Dylan in the eye and making him yelp in surprise and pain. Gwen flipped around and quickly pressed a finger to his lips, making it clear she didn't want to be exposed yet.  
He nodded his head, and they proceeding to tiptoe down the hall, closer to the large room in the cave that Gwen first found herself in.

_**Snap.**_

Dylan looked down to see a large stick beneath his foot, broken. He nervously looked up at Gwen to see her scared eyes warning him.  
"WHO'S THERE?!" The voice responded to accidental snap in flash within the occurrence. "I know you're there!"

The steps were fastening, coming closer. Gwen shrugged her shoulders back and strutted down the hall to face the new guest.  
But, before she could rear the corner, she was met with a bulky frame and a large gun, ramming into Gwen and almost toppling her over.

His face was more angry than confused, looking intent on finding _something,_ answers_._ He looked Gwen over before turning to see Dylan standing precariously against the other wall, lifting his hand up slowly. "H-hi." Dylan's girl-voice had made a reappearance.  
"Who the hell are you?!" The man shouted through a whisper, jabbing the arm with the gun toward Dylan. He then looked down at Gwen, staring her straight in the eyes. "And where am I?"

Gwen swallowed, and blinked away whatever sheepishness she was feeling. "My name is Gwen. This is Dylan." She motioned toward Dylan and he faked a smile.

The tall blond man slowly lowered his menacing gun to his side. He wasn't any less tense, but at least he wasn't pointing threatening objects at Dylan.

"I'm Dean." He said, smiling with utter patronizing.


	5. The Intrepid Hallway

"So, now that we're all cozy and comfy," Dean joked, and Gwen caught on to the fact he had the potential to be a sarcastic little snob. "Do you mind telling me where I am?"

Gwen wasn't sure how, but she knew she had seen this "Dean" before.. Somewhere.. Somehow. She could have passed him in Starbucks, or even saw his picture on Facebook. Maybe they had a mutual friend? She thought hard as she studied his face, till Dylan cleared his throat and broke her train of thought.

"We would definitely tell you that, yeah, if, umm.." Dylan trailed off wearily. Gwen could tell he was becoming exhausted of explaining the situation, since she had demanding the same of him just an hour or so ago. She wondered how long she'd been there..

She knew Dylan really had dropped the ball on this one and she picked it up immediately. "Look, to be honest, we don't know why we're here, either. We don't even know where 'here' is." She could used to explaining and re-explaining, she assumed she'd be the one to do those sorts of things anyway.

Dean was less than pleased with this. He'd become accustomed to doing things the hard way, anyway. This of course, did not mean he liked it.  
"Okay, so what do you know?" He tried to sound a bit more optimistic, but it came out more pretentious than he'd wished.

Gwen didn't feel sorry for him, mostly because he was acting like a little snob, she did know what it was like when she first arrived, and the feeling wasn't wearing off speedily.

She went on to explain to Dean all the details from Dylan that she remembered, and added everything up to where they met and her own retelling of her arrival. She left out the bit about Christmas and Michael Buble'...

Dean waited a minute while he took what had she had said in, word for word. Dylan had slumped down on the ground, listening and watching Gwen's lips move. She had full, pinkish lips. The bottom was slightly more plump than the top, making her profile even more sharp and dramatic.

It was at that moment that Dylan realized he hadn't seen a girl since a week before he was stolen into this world. He'd been cooped up in his expensive Manhattan penthouse, trying to ignore everyone for as long as possible. He'd had enough of the social network life, and taking a short vacation from the parties and pathetic 22-year-olds with their black Camaros, Mustangs, Ferrari's, and $1,000 black leather jackets was exactly what he needed.

He was starting to hate himself.  
Little did he know it would be his last chance out of his reclusive man-cave before he was practically kidnapped and thrown into a real cave. A _cave_ cave.

"Ya'know, this really gives me nothing to go on." Dean grumbled. He looked around the tunnel-like and narrow hallway, dark and intrepid.

Unlike Gwen and Dylan, his sense of hope was still intact even when everything seemed it's bleakest.  
He huffed, rubbing his forehead as he let himself put all the facts together. There had to be a clue in there somewhere.

"Gwen, right?" Dean doubled-checked, only out of habit. She nodded, her disapproval of his attitude becoming clearer. "You mentioned that Dylan, over here, has access to food. I have no idea what food means to him, but I'd say it's a good time to break out the survival snacks."

He chuckled a little, trying to change the mood. No one else laughed. He sighed. He really was trying, he could tell these 'kids' weren't as experienced in the art of survival as he was."The sun is setting. We need to start a fire."

When he said that, Dylan looked up from his moment of self-pity and his face brightened. "I can do that. I read a few books on survival while I was here, and I figured it out."

He smiled, brightly. Gwen smiled a little, too. Just seeing him lighten up a bit after so long, she felt a little better. "Piece. Of. Cake."

Gwen was happy to be moving. At least away from those dreadful halls... Not that she had something against dark, creepy tunnels. There was natural light from the openings in the ceiling, but there was something unearthly about the light.. About this place.

Gwen could almost smell the history of the place, the.. battle scars.

Many twisted events happened here. Gwen was just fine with leaving, even if just for a few moments to gather food and wood.

They walked in silence. Dylan leading the way, Dean clonking beside him, his head jolting around and searching the premises as if waiting for a beast to lunge from the darkness and shred them all to pieces. Gwen winced at this image, and forced herself to look forward, walking carefully behind the two boys.

Down another long and maniacal hallway, the light turning blood red and salty air beginning to move about, they marched on. Gwen rubbed her shoulders, the chill in the air collecting around. Her sheer blue top ruffled in the wind.

She wished now more than ever that she had her wool brown sweater, soft and warm. She wore it almost everywhere, to anything. She wore it around campus, to the library, to her classes. It was a staple.

She would have worn it to parties if she ever went to any.. She'd only taken it off for a little while when she experienced the phenomenon.

She clutched her stomach, hearing her hunger as it made foul, beastly noises.

Groaning, she sped up to the boy's pace. She had been walking purposefully slow to avoid any further pain in her abdominal area.

_**Whoooshhhh.**_

Something sent a chill down to her toes and the hair on her arms spiked up. She stopped, the boys still a ways down but in view.

"Guys?" She called out. They looked back, motioning for her to join them, but still continuing on their voyage.

She sighed unsettled, starting to follow them while the hair on her arms still alarmed poked up and felt prickly.

**_whhhhooooooshhhhhh. _**

She flipped around. Something-someone, was out there. Something so close it could have touch her.. She must've been imagining things. _No, no. I couldn't have imagined that._

_Breathe._ She reminded herself. Something was watching her, she felt eyes on her, a smirk.. A monster.

"Gwen!" Dylan's voice carried down to her, startling her out of her skin. "Hurry up, slow-poke!"

" 'Slow poke'? Reaaally?" Dean scoffed. She could hear them bickering from half a mile away.

Gwen glanced around, one last time. _No monsters here._

Then, she ran. Feeling her braid finally come undone and the wind swishing through, in her ears and her scalp.


	6. The Feast and Batman

The 'food room' was bigger than any pantry Gwen had ever seen.

Filled with breads, pastries, meats, cheeses of all sorts, vegetables, cans of soup.. Everything they needed and more to survive. The inside was cool and crisp, like the inside of a fridge that gradually becoming cooler till chilling. Memories of Gwen's devious older brother poured back into her mind, when she was thrust into her mother's garage fridge that held raw meats and cold cuts. It was a sort-of hell to her, at Eight-years-of-age. She cried till her tears were flakes on her cheeks, frozen and crumbly. Her father found her, eventually. After what seemed like hours, was really around 10 minutes.

_"Gweennn." _Dylan's obnoxious voice brought her back to the dreadful reality. He'd probably been talking for quite a while, Gwen paying no attention whatsoever. "Did you hear anything I said?" His fists rested on his hipbones, and his eyebrows scrunched together. She thought he looked prissy, all annoyed and dainty.

Dylan really wasn't 'dainty'.. He was obnoxious.. Boyish. He was silly, immature.

"S-sorry." Gwen mumbled. "I was just.. I was distracted." Her eyes dropped to the flour sacks at her feet. Dean was already emptying baskets of potatoes to fill with whatever they needed.

"Yeah, of course you were." Dylan brushed passed her and started fiddling with bundles and bags. Gwen didn't really feel bad at all. She was already doing her best not coming undone with confusion.

"Ignore him." Dean whispered, startling Gwen. It was unnerving to Gwen that he could sneak around undetected, with such a masculine build and stocky shoulders. Was he some sort of marine?

"I don't particularly care.." Gwen admitted, pulling on strings attached to bags full of apples. "He's been here much longer than you or I."

Dean said nothing, working in silence for a few seconds. Dylan had been on the island awhile..

But Dean, he thought everyone to be a threat. It was forced into his head as a small child. Don't trust anyone, not at first at least. Gwen wasn't terribly threatening.. College girl, probably a Freshmen. Not a sorority girl, unfortunately for Dean. She was pretty, no doubt. In a nerdy, messy way.

"It really doesn't matter how long any of us has been here." He finally stated, looking directly at Gwen."What's important, is finding a way out of this damned place."

Gwen looked over at him, noticing something more familiar about the gruffness of his voice and his mannerisms.. It was too familiar. It was nerve-wracking. Why was she so nervous all of the sudden?

_Oh my god. _

It's him. It's Dean!

It's Dean Winchester from 'Supernatural'. A character from a tv show. _A TV SHOW. _

No, no way. This couldn't be Dean Winchester. He didn't even exist! He was just a character, someone she'd occasional fan-girl over or write a short Fanfiction about. It wasn't..

But it was. It was _the_ Dean, it had to be. He was even wearing his brown leather jacket, old and rough. It _had_ to be him.

"You're staring at me." Dean snickered; he was hunched over a basket of breads on a shelf, picking out everything that looked tasty, and soft. Gwen looked away, more out of shock than embarrassment, though it did have some bearing on the sudden redness in her cheeks.

"I.. Uhh, I-I remembered something. Sorry." She turned on her heel, awkwardly, biting her lip and scrunching her nose together. Dylan was oblivious to the embarrassing little incident. _Thank God._

Gwen's fingernails were in her teeth before she knew it. She'd been training herself to stop the filthy habit, but with the no luck she caught herself with little white pieces in the back of her mouth while she read "Moby Dick" and all her re-writes of the history papers. Oh, how she missed Moby Dick.. Jane Eyre, too. Her sweater, her books, her teacup and cupboard full of little bags of delight. Chamomile, Jasmine&Ginger, all through Red Velvet cupcake flavored teabags.

This wasn't good enough. She was wasting her precious time here. When she thought to herself how she wished to go on adventures, this wasn't at all what she meant. She wanted the dashing Doctor, Eleven or 10, but how she loved Nine.. She wanted the Tardis, life-threatening adventures and dares, facing death and conquering all sorts of evil.

This wasn't at all what she meant. A stinking cave, with rotting bodies in the vine-covered walls no doubt. Dirt, mud, sand… Heat and sweat, not to mention disgusting body odor. She'd only been there half a day, and already she was tired of it. It was probably the hunger, and the exhaustion, though. She needed food, and sleep.

Gwen was a practical girl, even if silly and immature. She knew that when the voices inside her head told her how drastic and ridiculous the situation was, it wasn't all bad.

There was a simple fix, and right now that fix was a nice cup of soup, or toast with some of the preserved jam in the jars on the shelf. _Oh god, please let that be jam._

They had a good amount of food with them, as they callously walked back down the long stretch of hall. It was enough to feed them for about two weeks, if they rationed it out enough and lived frugally. _No more comfort foods_, she told herself.

They rested, for a moment. Dylan made a fire and showed them how he'd been cooking his own food, when he did cook it.. He'd been chewing on snack foods mostly, like bits of crackers and eating out of cans, though there weren't any utensils except for a few wooden spoons.

It wasn't properly set; Gwen stated when Dylan showed them his work. The metal rods he'd been using to prop up a pot were crooked, and the food wouldn't cook right.

Dylan wasn't pleased with her opinion.

For one, it was he who had been living there longest, as they still had no idea the exact amount of time, though Gwen had estimated roughly a little less than 3 weeks. On any account, it was him, not them. He believed himself to be far more experienced the ways of survival and frugal living.

Dean would have scoffed at this, for obvious reasons.

Dean figured it out quickly, set things straight and the metal rods were in-line. The pot hung perfectly balanced, just well enough to cook everything to perfection. Perfection for them, anyways.

A loaf of bread and a re-heated can of soup were their fortune, and they ate it all. Gwen not as much as the other two. She was profoundly homesick and worrisome. Her stomach didn't feel right and adding much more to it would only worsen it.

"I call night-watch." Dean finally said, setting his empty wooden bowl down on the dirty ground. Dylan and Gwen exchanged confused looks, which annoyed Dean even more than he already was.

"Night-watch? Who are you, Batman?!" Dylan retorted, sardonically. The corner of Gwen's mouth rose in a grin, but she tried to conceal it.

_Dean wishes he were._

His eyes made a wide circle through his lids, resulting then in a sour expression. "Look, if you guys didn't notice before, we're in a deserted cave with no explanation, no reason."

Gwen sighed. The last thing she wanted was a long speech about how little she knew.

"There is definitely a danger out there, and I don't intend to be eaten alive or worse. Not yet. Not tonight." Dean's eyes narrowed. He looked as if he were speaking to a mere child, by the tone of his voice.

Gwen, knowingly, realized if this were the true Dean Winchester, he was used to making these speeches. He was used to be a patronizing father figure, protective and a little over-tired of those around him.

Gwen also noticed his last words; _Not yet_.

No, he didn't intend on dying tonight, but what he really didn't want was to die here. Not here, of all places. Away from his brother..

Dylan interrupted her thoughts. "Dude, you have no possible idea how long I've-"

Then cut off by Dean's forceful words. "I don't care, I do not care!" Dean almost shouted.. Gwen felt more afraid of Dean at that moment than she was afraid of that awful place.

Dylan shrunk away, hurt by Dean's negative bearings. Dean breathed in, slowly. His eyes closed, and you could tell he was trying to hold back more nasty words.

"Look, trust me. There will always be dangers out there you cannot even comprehend."

Gwen wasn't unhappy about this, but she disliked being talk down to. She wasn't a child, not anymore. She just started college, not two weeks ago! She was.. Grown-up. She just turned 18, too. Not even a month ago..

She wasn't experienced in this lifestyle and she knew that. But, being incredulously condescending was not a pleasant thing to experience, when_ you're_ the one being talked down to.

After a few more gnawing words from Dean, they agreed to let him take watch. Who knows what's out there?

_Certainly not whatever was in that hall… _

Without another word, Gwen laid back, crunchy dirt against her neck and patches of grass in her messy hair. It was cold, as she noticed a few moments before. The chilled air had snuck up on them, slivering up like a serpent.

Gwen was shivering uncontrollably. Her fists were clenched, burrowed in the folds of her shirt. Dean noticed the shaking, he recognized it. There were several nights with Sam, alone and cold in a motel room, or camping in Dad's car. He recognized the innocence, the helplessness.

He stood, peeling his leather jacket off his back and arms. The cold air hit him quickly, and he almost regretted his decision. Gwen was almost asleep, she wouldn't notice..

The jacket was laid gently and comfortably on top of Gwen, covering her through her shoulders down to her upper thighs. The warmth of his body was still in the jacket, and though half asleep, she felt it.

"Sleep well, kid." Dean whispered, rubbing warmth into his arms.

Looking at Gwen, finally more peaceful in her slumber, he remembered her. Not Gwen, no. _Her. _

Cassie.

He'd just left her. Not even two weeks ago.

He didn't _leave her_, it wasn't really his choice.. He'd been working for her father, without Sam there for once. He wasn't used to being without Sammy, and it frightened him.

But he pressed on, without the burden. The burden he'd dreaded was lifted off his shoulders and he never thought he'd miss it.

And not two weeks ago, he'd been in-love for the first time with beautiful, iridescent Cassie. She was undeniably the most romantic fling he'd experienced, but it didn't feel like a fling. It felt more serious, more prolonged than shortened. He missed her, already. He'd never admit it. He didn't want to be considered romantic, or emotional in the least.

But looking at Gwen, mumbling in her sleep and her blonde hair tucked neatly behind her ear, he wished it was Cassie. Cassie, who slept in one singular position throughout the entire night. Silent, all you could hear was her soft, rhythmic breathing. Her brown curly hair draped over the pillow, and how it smelled of lavender..

Thinking of this, Dean drifted into a deep sleep.

Gwen awoke with a sudden intake of breath, bolting upright and her chest heaving. What had she been dreaming about? Pirates, no doubt. Or maybe her regular round of twisted demons, deformed and mutilated.

Dean was asleep, but where was Dylan? Dean rested with his arms crossed, his head propped up on a log. _That looks comfortable._ Gwen smirked.

She realized that warmth she'd been comforted by through the night was Dean's jacket. _Dean Winchester's leather jacket. _

Grinning, and nervously, she pulled the jacket up passed her nose and closed her eyes, breathing in the scent. Leather and pine needles. Ohh, a fangirl's dream.

_No one will ever believe me! _

She stood up, almost toppling over from morning dizziness. Folding the jacket nicely, she carefully set it next to Dean, trying not to wake him.

_Wherever is Dylan? _

He must have been getting more food, though they didn't need it. They still had a basket of apples, a loaf of bread, and hefty jar of possibly strawberry-flavored jam.

"Well, whatever shall I do.." Gwen whispered, careful not to wake Dean.

Then, the thought popped into her head, like a cartoonized lightbulb above her. "The library."


End file.
